2009
04.10

Poetry

White On White On White 6/18/10
Heaviness envelops me
Like an immensity of triple cream
Rising to cover every orifice until
It takes me under, the undertaker

I try to peer through the white
To see this drowning thing in light
But nothing seems to bring perspective
White on white on white

Evening 6/16/10
Evening spreads her sultry skirts
They swirl and flutter down
Like swallows coming home to roost

Spangles rise above the darkening horizon line
And sparkle against her velvet skin
Like jewels winking in the warm dusk

As alluring as the scent of Jasmine
Opening like tiny stars
Tendrils of intoxication drift across the breeze

Silken darkness spreads across my tongue like wine
Drowning in the fading light
Gradients of blue
As sapphire turns to midnight almost too soon

Then evening tilts her head and invites the night
And I drift off transported lost between the two
Awash in scent and stars and the soft breathe of you

Empathy As A Serial Killer 3/11/10
She stalks the streets with her heart on her sleeve
In her whisper soft suede boots
Antennae erect sensing the stretch of road
Outside nightclubs and nightlife and into the hearts of wildlife
Looking for a victim to slay with her bright empathy

She’s an assassin and kills with kindness and concern
She understands more then you ever might want to attend to or learn
She lurks ready and waiting to feel what you feel
To ride your waves of sorrow or sadness
That might or could nip at your heals
“Lets talk” she says and then drains you dry
Before you even realized, that you could cry

She latches on like a leach in the stream of steam
That pours off your skin in an aura of feelings, ripe in the late shadows of evening
She’s a killer; she clings, she can’t help, that she knows what she knows
And will steal what you feel while she mows what you show
Adaptable, flexible like a gymnast with Olympian insight, in the know

Each soft shadowed footstep leads right to your heartbeat
Each feeling pulls her in that much nearer
She breathes in your sensations, and then eats with abandon
Empathy sympathy a crazed feeding frenzied symphony of dined upon emotions
She eats till she’s full and then burps politely into her glove, she’s gotta go…

She leaves your skull void of all action
Seduced, then reduced, to a used mushy pulp
Of sodden emotion and licked up spilt guilt
She heads up the cobbles to what she’ll next stalk and gobble
I say, watch the shadows, you could be next…

Loser 7/10/10
Lose,
Lost looser
Rejected, abandoned pushed away
Deflected, passed by
Death on the side of the freeway

The cost is high
Dreams squashed
Splat flat in fact
I splatted down on the ground as if struck
But not by luck
Or even dumb luck
This sucks so badly

“The higher you climb baby”
At least that’s what they say
The harder you play, the more you pay
And then you get slayed
Slashed, bad feedback
Attack of the slapjacks
Singed again and a bit unhinged

Disappointment rises up
Like a rat on a wave
Of panic to save
Its tiny, clawed self
Its wealth of knowledge
Never learned in college
It’s bound to drown
In sorrow if not today
Then possibly tomorrow

This lost loser decides to sink
Herself into a tall, tall drink
And drown her sorrows
And rethink
Her strategies and re-link
Her self to luck
Or at least the making of quick and mighty buck

“Painted

Thwap the brush swings wildly
It slaps across my body

I can still hear the way the front door opened
It slaps against my heart

I can still hear the way the front door opened
Not a word has crossed my lips

I can still hear the front door open
Before she flings her anger like an overloaded brush
Splattering, slathering, splashing

Her vivid red and blackened palette
Indiscriminately and without hesitation

Flinging it against the soul of her children, soiling, staining, running
The bristles sting and seethe and drip with her sharpened tongue

With abandon and anger her brush tars and coats and strokes
Blackening the horizon, reddening the eyes, closing the throat
Her brush pushing and edging in for confrontation

For release
For the unburdening of shoulders piled high with anger

For an adversary provoked and thus worthy of her wrath

She pushes her brush to lick and lick

and lick

Until the thick coats of anger blister and peel, in sheer rebellion from over application
I can still hear the way the front door opened

Stop I am a child. Stop I am a child. Stop I am your child

- A. McIntyre. 5.25.2004

No Comment.

Add Your Comment
*